


Sweet Things

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Food, M/M, Reader requests, indruck, state fairs, sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Two reader requests, one for Sternclay and one for Indruck, that ended up being food based.





	1. Sternclay

**Author's Note:**

> Sternclay prompt was to put the pairing into my favorite movie scene. I chose one from "Mostly Martha" that's definitely high on the list on scenes I love.

It hadn’t started off well. 

Stern, head chef of Amnesty, the best fine dining establishment in the state, was livid when he discovered a new chef had been hired. Sure, the man had a list of accolades as long as his arm, but that only made Stern more upset. They were going to try and replace him. 

He knew he was perfectionist, that he was demanding, that he didn’t always handle criticism from customers who didn’t know well done from rare but felt they could tell him how to do his job. But cooking was his life, his career, the result of years of struggle and hard work, his heart and soul as much a part of the restaurant as the bricks and mortar. 

And now they were bringing in some friendlier, someone new, and it would only be a matter of time before they bid him farewell. 

When Barclay arrived, Stern spent more than his normal amount of time trying to calm down in the walk in freezer. His staff adored Barclay from the first, the man could talk to anybody, make them smile, make them feel important. The management listened intently to his ideas about the menu, even adding some of them in on the second day the man was there. 

It would have made things so much simpler if Barclay was egotistical or rude or, better yet, unskilled. But the man had a true talent in the kitchen, the food he made so good that even the pickiest eater (Sterns niece, who he had care of after his sisters unfortunate passing) downed his spaghetti with Parmesan like it was her last meal. 

He was also handsome, tall and broad, soft eyes and dark hair that Stern vigorously ignored. Worse, he didn’t see Stern as his equal in the kitchen; he saw him as his better, his first words to him being how honored he was that he got to share the same space as him and cook alongside him. He teased Stern, gently at first, about how one day he’d get the recipe for his world-renowned saffron lime sauce. When he offered thoughts on the menu, it was always with respect, always trying to brighten or highlight the dishes Stern was proudest off.

It was that respect for him, the appreciation of his drive and skill which were things he often felt drove people away from him, that caused Stern to fall for the man. He hasn’t said a word yet, terrified that it will threaten their working relationship. 

That caution would seem counterintuitive to anyone who saw him now, as Barclay finishes blindfolding him at the small table in Sterns apartment.

“Is this the part where you steal my good knives?” He teases and Barclay laughs, the sound moving to the either side of the table.

“Come on, Stern, what do you take me for? If I’m gonna steal anything, it’ll be the cast iron pans.”

“You can get those for ten dollars new, Barclay.” Stern smiles.

“Yeah, but I’m betting yours have been seasoned so perfectly cooking with them is a religious experience.” 

“Flatterer.”

“You deserve it.” 

Stern blushes.

“Now, best chef of the modern era, I’m going to test your skills. Open.” He taps Sterns lips with a spoon and he parts them without hesitation.

“Olive oil, yogurt, golden beet, and garlic. I see you’ve gotten into my leftovers.”

“Right on both fronts. Although I whipped up a few things while you were putting the little June to bed.”

“I hope you cleaned up after yourself.”

“I will, don’t worry. Try this.”

“Lime juice, chipotle, a pinch of sugar and a dash of salt.”

“Right again.” The table creaks as Barclay leans closer, “this?”

“That is...how did Hershey chocolate sauce get in my fridge?”

“Bought it for the sundaes June and I made. Can make you chocolate milk with it if you want.”

“Barclay, Hershey is a poor version of chocolate sauce.”

“Hush, it’s an American classic, and I will not tolerate such blasphemy in my kitchen.”

“It’s my kitchen. I suppose next you’ll feed me cheese-wiz.” Stern knows he’s grinning like a fool, but he can’t help it. Barclay makes him giddy.

“Nope.” 

The next sensation is Barclays lips pressing against his own, tasting faintly of chocolate syrup. There’s a split second where he freezes in surprise, and then he’s returning the kiss eagerly. Barclay cups his cheeks, tongue running briefly along his lips before he pauses to pull the blindfold off. 

Stern is treated to the sight of Barclay, eyes shining and cheeks flushed, as he bumps their noses together, fingers slowly carding through Sterns hair.

“Been wanting to do that for weeks.”

“Likewise.” Stern leans in, draws a kiss from his lips across to his cheek.

“Any other things you’ve been wanting to do for weeks?” He purrs and hears a sharp intake of breath from Barclay.

It did not have a promising start, Stern thinks as he tugs Barclay down the hall towards his bedroom, pausing every half second to kiss, but it sure as hell is full of promise now.


	2. Indruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader request for either a Sternclay or Indruck picnic date.

The county fair happens in Kepler every July. Or, as Duck calls it, mosquito heat humid season.

But whatever dislike he has for the weather pales when compared to how badly he wants to take Indrid on a date. And Indrid hasn’t been to a fair since the Worlds Fair in 1904. Besides, it’ll give Duck a chance to spoil him, which may be his favorite thing in the whole wide world. 

The day starts out well, and by midday they’ve seen the 4-H tent (Indrid delighting in the chickens, for some reason), most of the exhibits, and Duck’s won him a large plush star that glows when he squeezes it (Indrid keeps hugging it and chirping when it lights up).

It’s when they’re considering what rides to go on that he notices something is off. Indrid looks jittery, the way he does when futures start overwhelming him.

“You doin' okay?”

“It’s, there are more people to bump into and it’s gotten louder, so that plus the futures-”

“You wanna take a break from the hustle and bustle?”

Indrid smiles in relief. Duck knows just the place to go. He used to hang out around the fairgrounds during his youth (they were usually deserted and had lots of blind spots, perfect for shooting the shit and smoking), and their layout hasn’t changed in decades. 

He guides Indrid to a patch of trees, still technically on the grounds but off-set enough that no one seems to notice them. 

“You okay hangin' here while I grab some food?”

“Of course, my sweet.” Indrid stretches out on the grass, eyes shut. 

Duck leaves him be, heads back into the dust and color of the fair. He’s not sure what he wants to eat, and it occurs to him that he didn’t ask Indrid what he was in the mood for. Everything smells so good, smoky or salty or sweet. 

Sweet.

Oh, he knows _exactly_ what he’s going to do. 

It takes forty-five minutes, including the purchase of a blanket from a vendor on one of the far rows, before he makes it back to Indrid. The skinny man is right where he left him, snoozing on the grass. 

“Mmmm, you’re back.” He smiles sleepily up at Duck, “And you brought half the food here with you, it seems.”

“You said you hadn’t been to a fair in over a century, right? Which I assume means you haven’t had fair food since then.” Duck flaps the blanket down onto the ground, gestures for Indrid to scoot onto it.

“Correct, though I’ve had things that are simil-ARE THOSE DEEP FRIED TWINKIES?” Indrid grabs one of the bags, the one Duck was seconds away from telling him had deep-fried twinkies in it. He flips open the container and shoves the Twinkies into his face.

“These, ow, ow hot, are incredible. Human cooking truly is ingenious.”

“Ever had a deep-fried snickers?”

“A what?” Indrid gasps, making grabby hands in Ducks direction. Duck smiles, hands the box over before continuing to lay cups and boxes out on the blanket. He grabs the BBQ and the deep-fried pickles for himself, figures he and Indrid can share all the rest.

“You want a green river float or a cherry coke one?” 

“Green, please.” Indrid takes the offered cup, sucks happily at the straw. His expression is borderline euphoric, he’s already got powered sugar on half his body, and he’s never looked more handsome. 

“Close your eyes” Duck waits until Indrid complies before slipping a spoon of the kitchen sink milkshake between his lips. Indrid purrs, licks them, and then dips forward to kiss Ducks hand.

They spend the rest of the afternoon on the blanket, Duck introducing Indrid to some of humanity's greatest culinary achievements. Eventually they’re flat on their backs, Indrid resting his head against Ducks chest, humming.

“Thank christ, the sun’s finally goin' down.”

“Mmm, I love summer, even when it gets dark I don’t get cold.”

“Lucky, you’re the only person in town not sweatin' like a pig.” Duck kisses the top of his head.

“True, but I do enjoy that you cope with the heat by wearing tank tops. It shows off your physique.” He runs a hand up Ducks chest.

“Think my physique is mostly funnel cake at this point.”

“Nonsense, there’s lots of muscle too.” Indrid grins, squeezing his bicep with a purr, which is very gratifying indeed.

“Wait, is someone buying desserts for you what humans mean by ‘sugar daddy?”

“Not quite, usually there’s more fancy stuff involved. But I’ll be your sugar daddy any day, darlin'.”

Indrid kisses him, tasting of sugar and oil.

“I’d like that my love. Though, perhaps not everyday. I’m not sure my blood sugar can take it.”


End file.
